ChewedLips

Sugar and I head out into a rainy morning filled with swirling mist and echoing birdsong. She is anxious to round the corner and see who might be out and about. She half drags me forward as I juggle umbrella, raincoat and doggie bag. But suddenly I stop and Sugar is brought up short.

I squint at the tulips growing against the south side of the building. For days the swollen buds have been promising to burst forth into colorful bloom. Every morning I expect to see flashes of red and orange and yellow. Every morning I have seen only the swollen buds nodding nonchalantly in the slight breeze.

Today I am greeted not by color of flower, but by chewed off stalks. Someone or some thing has gnawed the tender buds right off the plant. There are at least a half dozen naked stems shattered and bereft of their babies, empty wombs that will never again offer fruit. Worse yet, there is a bulb that has been completely ripped from the ground and lies white and naked on the brown dirt.

What monster has desecrated this garden? I am angry. Deer? Woodchuck? Rabbit? Those horrible critters. I want to make them stop. I am fearful that the last few buds will be eaten. I don't want to leave these tender plants unguarded. But Sugar edges me forward, around the corner. Huh. The flowers here are untouched by gnawing lips. What makes the difference? Have they just not discovered this patch of food?

I realize that I am helpless to prevent further damage. And that the animal responsible was simply doing what animals do. It must have been a real treat to eat something so delicious as an unborn flower. My anger passes. Still, I hope it gave them indigestion. On the way back, I tuck the displaced bulb back into the nurturing earth. There. I save one, at least.